


Baby Names

by MissWhiskey



Series: Pure Filth [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (that’s where the knights come in), Alpha Arthur, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Filth, M/M, Omega Merlin (Merlin), Oral Sex, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Rimjobs, and he and Merlin are married and mated, complete and utter filth, mentions of mpreg, mentions of previous orgies, no mention of magic, slick producing, soooo interpret that as you will, uhhhh Arthur is king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 16:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17369747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWhiskey/pseuds/MissWhiskey
Summary: “You’d like that, though, wouldn’t you?”Arthur’s voice purrs in his ear with more reverence than Merlin has ever heard him speak before, yet no less shocking than a duel inside a church. Gods, he shouldnotbe thinking about churches right now, especially when Arthur’s rut is beginning to catch up to him, the heavy, spiced scent tickling Merlin’s nose.“You want them to hear. You want them to know what we’re doing. You love it.”





	Baby Names

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arthur_pendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/gifts).



> errr, so uh, surprise! i’m a bit of a kink freak. written for the lovely arthur-of-the-pendragons on tumblr :> enjoy!

“Hush, or they’ll hear you.”

The rough bark of the tree he’s pressed against threatens to scratch his skin; it offers no relief from the burning in his very bones, the slide of heat that drips down his spine and pools low in his stomach. Arthur is tucked up against him. He can feel the press of the man’s arousal against the back of his trembling thigh; hot breath dashes over the sensitive curve of his neck. Slow, careful fingers, calloused from years of swords and horse riding inch along his sides, mapping a path that sparks and fizzes long after the contact is gone.

Since the beginning of their courtship, the king had never been shy about physical affection. He was always brushing a hand against Merlin’s, ruffling his hair, tugging him in for a sweet kiss. It is more open than his father could have ever approved of, which is a fact Merlin revels in, soaking up the attention like a deserted man at a river. But this is not always the case. No, there are certain people that Arthur is more comfortable with, certain people that he trusts not just to keep his mate safe, but to protect them both when they are locked together, joined in the most intimate of ways.

“You’d like that, though, wouldn’t you?” Arthur’s voice purrs in his ear with more reverence than Merlin had ever heard him speak before, yet no less shocking than a duel inside a church. Gods, he should not be thinking about churches right now, especially when Arthur’s rut is beginning to catch up to him, the heavy, spiced scent tickling Merlin’s nose. “You want them to hear. You want them to know what we’re doing. You love it.”

Damn that bastard.

Without his permission, a whine rises from Merlin’s throat. He cranes his head to one side and forward, cheek against the tree, the pressure of Arthur’s hips against his keeping him from totally collapsing. He had thought his heat wasn’t going to start for another week—as such, it was easy to agree to a short hunting trip, always happy to spend time with his husband and his knight friends. But Merlin never has been the pervader of good luck.

Arthur’s hand slides down his side again, over the narrowness of his waist, and into the line of his trousers that have been loosened and clinging low from all the attention. Merlin shivers as his hot fingers press between his cheeks; he doesn’t need to look to know that when Arthur pulls his hand back, his fingers are glistening with Merlin’s slick, a veritable ambrosia, the sweet tang of fertility.

What he’s not prepared for, however, is the way Arthur snakes his hand around and presses those wet fingers to his lips. “Taste,” he murmurs, nuzzling at the lines of scars upon Merlin’s throat, tongue darting out in small licks to taste the place of their bond. “I want you to see how delicious you are.” It’s certainly not the first time he’s partaken of his own slick, but who is he to refuse his king?

Merlin’s lips wrap around those thick, steady fingers. The slick is salty but sweet, smooth in his mouth, Arthur’s skin a delightful taste afterwards. He only releases the man once he’s sufficiently sucked off every last drop, and then soaked his fingers with saliva in return.

Arthur growls lowly. The omega feels it rattle through his shoulder and into his chest; a little grin bounces momentarily across his features.

As he expects, his husband bites at the bond mark before drawing away, fingers becoming a vice around the thin circumference of Merlin’s wrist. He tugs him along, impatient, till the trees thin out and the scatter of bed rolls appear. The knights are all quietly talking; they glance up at the return of their sovereigns, but are quick to turn away, shifting with what Merlin _knows_ is desire. They’re all alphas, every single one of them—but they all have somewhat of a thing for him, too. He knows, quite well, that if he’d never fallen for Arthur, he would have had several more candidates to choose from. Arthur knows it too; they’ve had their fun before, taking turns with Merlin, the utterly debauched group of sinners that they are. And then Merlin and Arthur had married.

The knights were cut off—at least until Arthur was certain Merlin was carrying the royal heir.

Still, the way Arthur drags him inside the one tent that’s set up makes Merlin’s blood boil with anticipation. The knights have seen all he has to offer; the separation and the anticipation makes it feel taboo again, makes it feel as unacceptable and chaotic and _bad_ as it had the very first time.

Suffice to say, by the time they’re both inside, Merlin’s heat has spiked significantly 

He drops to his knees quickly. This, he loves. This, he finds himself drawn to, again and again and again. Nimble fingers unlace Arthur’s breeches and the man tangles his own in his husband’s dark hair, their flushed faces matching and their pupils blown wide. He’s careful, gentle, as he pulls Arthur’s cock from inside his trousers. A small kiss to the tip—and then he’s drawing short kitten licks to the length of it, pleasure racing through him in a way he really doesn’t have the right to be subject to, considering it derives only from giving pleasure to Arthur, and not receiving any himself. Arthur always makes it about him when they make love; Merlin enjoys the chance to give back.

“Shit,” Arthur hisses above him. The grip tightens in his hair. It spurs him on and he stretches his lips around the man’s cock, the picture of innocence even as he slides down slowly, knowing perfectly well what he’s doing. “You love that, don’t you?” Arthur is always talking; Merlin loves it. He himself is vocal, though more in sounds and cries and pleads than anything else. They make a good pair. “Look at you, Merlin. Sucking my cock, on your knees like the good omega you are. You don’t care where I fuck you, do you? Long as it’s in one of your holes, you’re happy.”

Merlin isn’t surprised when this sends off heat prickling across his skin, something twisting pleasantly in the low of his hips. He moans in affirmation, bobbing his head slowly, taking in more and more on each motion. He’s not quiet, he knows the sounds can’t be muffled by the thin tent wall. He knows the knights can hear Arthur’s heated words, he knows they’ll be able to catch the whines and whimpers he gives in return. Oh, how wonderful that is.

Soon, Arthur is pulling him off. It sets off a distraught mewl deep in Merlin’s chest, but the king doesn’t allow it to finish before he’s pressing his husband down amongst the furs of the bed, his hungry fingers divesting them of their clothes. Arthur’s kiss is scorching, his tongue mapping out Merlin’s mouth despite them both knowing they have each other memorized in every way possible. When he breaks away, it leaves Merlin panting, working to open his eyes even halfway, lust heavy between the two of them and their mingling scents thick on the air.

“Arthur,” Merlin groans, sliding his hands up the man’s chest. The muscles are well defined, thick and whipcord strong, able and willing to kill for Merlin if he is ever in danger. It sends a primitive wave through him, contentment born from the knowledge that he is safe, that their eventual children will be safe too. 

“Turn,” Arthur replies. He’s gruff and controlled, but Merlin can heat the want in his voice just the same. So he scrambles to obey, twisting around to lay his flat stomach against the furs, the softness a gentle caress upon his aching body. Then Arthur’s hands are on his hips, dragging them up, forcing him to take his weight on his knees, that of which are spread wide nearly to the point of collapse. 

Arthur’s tongue is scorching hot as it drags up Merlin’s thigh. The man shouts, unable to stop himself, the sensitive skin quivering. He licks up the slick, drags his tongue over Merlin’s balls, nuzzles against the curve of his ass. His hands move to drag the low mounds apart, and then that velvet muscle is dipping in at Merlinms entrance, lapping at the moisture as it gathers and seeps, humming appreciatively at the pink, puckered hole. “You look so good like this, love,” Arthur murmurs lowly, pausing to say his piece, returning between each sentence to the task at hand. “All spread out for me, waiting. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He dips in, but he never goes too far. Arthur is too aware of the way Merlin likes it; it means he’s shifting up before Merlin can become a babbling mess, means he’s resisting the desire to taste the inside of him and twist his fingers into the small hole, watch Merlin gape open for him. That can come another time. For now, Arthur drapes himself over his mate’s back, scenting at the bond mark yet again. He has a propensity to do so; Merlin never minds.

However, it means that he’s taking far too long. Merlin buffs and whines and finally rocks his hips back, desperate for the man, the empty ache inside him flaring back to nearly painful. “Arthur, please,” he gasps out, nearly choking on a needy sob. “I need you. Please!”

“What do you want me to do?” He can hear the grin in Arthur’s voice. The man is dead when they both recover from this. “Tell me. Come on then, Merlin. You can do it.”

His face is red but the embarrassment doesn’t stop him. It hasn’t for quite a long time. “Fuck me,” he finally pleads. “Take me, fill me with your cock!”

Arthur’s alpha instincts are no doubt flaring with satisfaction, the same way Merlin’s omega subservience contents him, makes him feel _good_ for begging and whimpering and making himself so irresistible. The blunt head of Arthur’s cock soon pressed against him; Merlin cries out, his preference of being stretched by Arthur’s cock making it all the better. It’s a dull ache, the fullness slowly sliding up into him, and he’s panting and moaning by the time they bottom out.

A hand slides over his hip and around to his stomach. There, Merlin knows, Arthur can feel himself inside his omega; he’s thin and Arthur’s cock is huge, making his pale skin distend ever so faintly. 

“This is what you’ll feel like soon,” Arthur growls lowly in his ear, not a trace of threat to it. “I’m going to fill you up with my pups tonight. You’ll be carrying our son. You’ll be stretched. Full. Fat. _Gorgeous.”_  

Merlin’s eyes nearly roll in the back of his head. He gasps and writhes, his heart hammering in his chest, his heavy cock hanging between his thighs. “Yes, please,” he groans, dropping his forehead to the furs. “I want it. Want your pups.”

The chuckle from Arthur is not unexpected, but it makes Merlin’s own lips twitch up anyway. “Then I’ll give it to you. ...On one condition.” The omega whines and glances back for a moment. Arthur doesn’t have much patience and so the moment is hardly drawn out. 

“I want you to scream for me. Make the knights hear. I know you like it. I want you to let them know that you’re to be carrying soon, that maybe, _maybe_ I’ll let them touch you again. I want you to make it nearly _unbearable_ for them. Got it?” He waits, only long enough to get a jerky nod. “Good.” 

It’s brutal. Animalistic.

Arthur’s pace leaves no room for the gentle, sweet lovemaking that characterizes most of their sex. His hips slam against Merlin’s, the wet slap obscene in the small tent. Merlin doesn’t disappoint with his promise. His voice rises up into the air without shame. Every thrust is accompanied by a shout, a yell, a moan. Arthur’s name is a constant in the whole mess, as is _‘my king’_ and _‘oh gods!’_  

Those beautiful, warm fingers soon find their way to the back of Merlin’s neck. They push him down, down, eliminating the last few inches between him and the furs. Pressure lessens his breathing ability just a bit, not even enough to make a dent in his noises, but certainly enough that Merlin can get the rush out of it that he always does. Then the rest of Arthur’s body follows, sweaty and hot where their skin clings, heavy and promising and grounding in the way the king seems to cover every inch of him.

It isn’t long before Merlin is sobbing, painless tears thick in his lashes, his hands trembling and twisting against the furs. Arthur’s arm around his hips keep him up; the coil in his stomach is twisting tighter and tighter, burning hotter and hotter. The sweet drag inside him grows to ache again, as Arthur’s knot begins to swell; Merlin loses his voice for a few precious, incredible seconds when it finally pops inside and locks them together, his hole fluttering uselessly against the invasion.

Then his voice comes back and he _screams_ for Arthur, untamed and wild and utterly beautiful in the king’s eyes. They don’t even manage another thirty seconds before his hips stutter in and he cums, flooding inside his dear omega, promising their first child, Camelot’s royal heir. Merlin joins him in bliss only moments later, slick dripping around the knot, but Arthur’s seed tucked up deep, deep inside him.

They’re both shaking when Arthur finally lifts his hand from Merlin’s neck. He turns them to their sides and slides his arms around his mate’s waist, fingers brushing over the soft pouch of skin that’s sure to stretch in the coming months, envisioning what Merlin will be like when he’s an endearing nine months pregnant. It’s as fulfilling a vision as Merlin’s own hopes for Arthur’s waiting arms being filled with his children, laughs and smiles and love blossoming where it never had been allowed to sprout in Arthur’s own childhood. 

“We need to start talking about baby names,” Merlin says with amusement nearly ten minutes later, when they’ve caught their breath and cooled down, easy and comfortable in each other’s embrace. “I don’t care to procrastinate on that.” 

“My mother had no clue what to name me until she saw me.” Arthur’s lips dance over the bondmark in the hollow of Merlin’s neck; he’s soft and content, and Merlin is glad to hear no sorrow to his voice, only a deep respect and a warm fondness for the woman he never met. “I say we do it like that.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Absolutely not. We’re going to plan it.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Arthur.”

“Mm hmm”

“Arthur.” 

“Whatever you say, love.”

Ten minutes more saw the both of them asleep and a camp full of knights relieved. It was one thing to participate in their kings’ fun—and another thing entirely to only listen to it.


End file.
